PADRE A 
IGNACIO 


UC-NRLF 


OWEN  WISTER 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST  OF 

Alice  R.   Hilgard 


"THE  CONVERT  SAT  IN  HIS  CHAIR  NO  LONGER,  BUT  STOOD 
SINGING  BY  THE  PIANO  " 


PADRE 
IGNACIO 


OR 


THE    SONG    OF   TEMPTATION 


BY 

OWEN    WISTER 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND      LONDON 

M      -       C       -       M  X  I 


COPYRIGHT.   1900.   1911.  BY    HARPER   ft    BROTHERS 

PRINTED    IN  THE   UNITED   STATES    OF   AMERICA 

PUBLISHED   SEPTEMBER.    191] 


r  t 

GIFT 


W&n 


PADRE   IGNACIO 


M881029 


PADRE    IGNACIO 


T  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar  the  sea 
son  was  at  one  of  those  moments 
when  the  air '  rests  quiet  over 
land  and  sea*  The  old  breezes 
were  gone;  the  new  ones  were  not 
yet  risen*  The  flowers  in  the  mission  gar 
den  opened  wide ;  no  wind  came  by  day 
or  night  to  shake  the  loose  petals  from 
their  stems*  Along  the  basking,  silent, 
many-colored  shore  gathered  and  lingered 
the  crisp  odors  of  the  mountains*  The 
dust  hung  golden  and  motionless  long  after 

the  rider  was  behind  the  hill,  and  the  Pa- 
J 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

cific  lay  like  a  floor  of  sapphire,  whereon 
to  walk  beyond  the  setting  sun  into  the 
East*  One  white  sail  shone  there*  In 
stead  of  an  hour,  it  had  been  from  dawn 
till  afternoon  in  sight  between  the  short 
headlands;  and  the  Padre  had  hoped  that 
it  might  be  the  ship  his  homesick  heart 
awaited*  But  it  had  slowly  passed*  From 
an  arch  in  his  garden  cloisters  he  was  now 
watching  the  last  of  it*  Presently  it  was 
gone,  and  the  great  ocean  lay  empty*  The 
Padre  put  his  glasses  in  his  lap.  For  a  short 
while  he  read  in  his  breviary,  but  soon  for 
got  it  again*  He  looked  at  the  flowers  and 
stinny  ridges,  then  at  the  huge  blue  triangle 
of  sea  which  the  opening  of  the  hills  let  into 
sight*  **  Paradise,"  he  murmured, 44  need  not 
hold  more  beauty  and  peace*  But  I  think 
I  would  exchange  all  my  remaining  years 
of  this  for  one  sight  again  of  Paris  or  Se 
ville*  May  God  forgive  me  such  a  thought  I" 
2 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

Across  the  unstirred  fragrance  of  olean 
ders  the  bell  for  vespers  began  to  ring. 
Its  tones  passed  over  the  Padre  as  he 
watched  the  sea  in  his  garden.  They 
reached  his  parishioners  in  their  adobe 
dwellings  near  by.  The  gentle  circles  of 
sound  floated  outward  upon  the  smooth, 
immense  silence — over  the  vines  and  pear- 
trees  ;  down  the  avenues  of  the  olives ; 
into  the  planted  fields,  whence  women  and 
children  began  to  return;  then  out  of  the 
lap  of  the  valley  along  the  yellow  uplands, 
where  the  men  that  rode  among  the  cattle 
paused,  looking  down  like  birds  at  the  map 
of  their  home.  Then  the  sound  widened, 
faint,  unbroken,  until  it  met  Temptation 
in  the  guise  of  a  youth,  riding  tow 
ard  the  Padre  from  the  South,  and 
cheered  the  steps  of  Temptation's  jaded 
horse* 

"For  a  day,  one  single  day  of  Paris !" 
3 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

repeated    the    Padre,   gazing    through    his 
cloisters  at  the  empty  sea. 

Once  in  the  year  the  mother-world  re 
membered  him*  Once  in  the  year,  from 
Spain,  tokens  and  home-tidings  came  to 
him,  sent  by  certain  beloved  friends  of  his 
youth.  A  barkentine  brought  him  these 
messages*  Whenever  thus  the  mother- 
world  remembered  him,  it  was  like  the  touch 
of  a  warm  hand,  a  dear  and  tender  caress; 
a  distant  life,  by  him  long  left  behind,  seemed 
to  be  drawing  the  exile  homeward  from 
these  alien  shores*  As  the  time  for  his 
letters  and  packets  drew  near,  the  eyes  of 
Padre  Ignacio  would  be  often  fixed  wist 
fully  upon  the  harbor,  watching  for  the 
barkentine*  Sometimes,  as  to-day,  he  mis 
took  other  sails  for  hers,  but  hers  he  mis 
took  never*  That  Pacific  Ocean,  which,  for 
all  its  hues  and  jeweled  mists,  he  could  not 

learn  to  love,  had,  since  long  before  his  day, 
4 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

been  furrowed  by  the  keels  of  Spain,  Trad 
ers,  and  adventurers,  and  men  of  God  had 
passed  along  this  coast,  planting  their  col 
onies  and  cloisters;  but  it  was  not  his  ocean* 
In  the  year  that  we,  a  thin  strip  of  patriots 
away  over  on  the  Atlantic  edge  of  the  con 
tinent,  declared  ourselves  an  independent 
nation,  a  Spanish  ship,  in  the  name  of  Saint 
Francis,  was  unloading  the  centuries  of  her 
own  civilization  at  the  Golden  Gate*  San 
Diego  had  come  earlier.  Then,  slowly,  as 
mission  after  mission  was  built  along  the 
soft  coast  wilderness,  new  ports  were  estab 
lished — at  Santa  Barbara,  and  by  Point  San 
Luis  for  San  Luis  Obispo,  which  lay  inland 
a  little  way  up  the  gorge  where  it  opened 
among  the  hills*  Thus  the  world  reached 
these  missions  by  water;  while  on  land, 
through  the  mountains,  a  road  led  to  them, 
and  also  to  many  more  that  were  too  dis 
tant  behind  the  hills  for  ships  to  serve — a 
2  5 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

rough  road,  long  and  lonely,  punctuated 
with  church  towers  and  gardens*  For  the 
Fathers  gradually  so  stationed  their  settle 
ments  that  the  traveler  might  each  morn 
ing  ride  out  from  one  mission  and  by  even 
ing  of  a  day's  fair  journey  ride  into  the 
next*  A  lonely,  rough,  dangerous  road,  but 
lovely,  too,  with  a  name  like  music — El 
Camino  Real.  Like  music  also  were  the 
names  of  the  missions  —  San  Juan  Capis- 
trano,  San  Luis  Rey  de  Francia,  San 
Miguel,  Santa  Ynez  —  their  very  list  is  a 
song* 

So  there,  by-and-by,  was  our  continent, 
with  the  locomotive  whistling  from  Savan 
nah  to  Boston  along  its  eastern  edge,  and 
on  the  western  the  scattered  chimes  of  Spain, 
ringing  among  the  unpeopled  mountains* 
Thus  grew  the  two  sorts  of  civilization — 
not  equally*  We  know  what  has  happened 
since*  To-day  the  locomotive  is  whistling 
6 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

also  from  The  Golden  Gate  to  San  Diego; 
but  still  the  old  mission-road  goes  through 
the  mountains,  and  along  it  the  foot 
steps  of  vanished  Spain  are  marked  with 
roses,  and  broken  cloisters,  and  the  cru 
cifix. 

But  this  was  J855.  Only  the  barkentine 
brought  to  Padre  Ignacio  the  signs  from  the 
world  that  he  once  had  known  and  loved  so 
dearly.  As  for  the  new  world  making  a 
rude  noise  to  the  northward,  he  trusted  that 
it  might  keep  away  from  Santa  Ysabel,  and 
he  waited  for  the  vessel  that  was  over 
due  with  its  package  containing  his  single 
worldly  luxury. 

As  the  little,  ancient  bronze  bell  con 
tinued  swinging  in  the  tower,  its  plaintive 
call  reached  something  in  the  Padre's 
memory.  Softly,  absently,  he  began  to 
sing.  He  took  up  the  slow  strain  not 

quite  correctly,  and  dropped  it,  and  took 
7 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

it    up    again,    always    in    cadence    with 
the  bell: 


At  length  he  heard  himself,  and,  glancing 
at  the  belfry,  smiled  a  little*  "It  is  a 
pretty  ttme,"  he  said,  "  and  it  always  made 
me  sorry  for  poor  Fra  Diavolo*  Auber  him 
self  confessed  to  me  that  he  had  made  it 
sad  and  put  the  hermitage  bell  to  go  with 
it,  because  he  too  was  grieved  at  having  to 
kill  his  villain,  and  wanted  him,  if  possible, 
to  die  in  a  religious  frame  of  mind*  And 
Attber  touched  glasses  with  me  and  said — 
how  well  I  remember  it! — *  Is  it  the  good 
Lord,  or  is  it  merely  the  devil,  that  makes 
me  always  have  a  weakness  for  rascals?'  I 

told  him  it  was  the  devil*    I  was  not  a 
8 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

priest  then*  I  could  not  be  so  sure  with 
my  answer  now/'  And  then  Padre  Ignacio 
repeated  Auber's  remark  in  French:  '  *  Est- 
ce  le  bon  Diet*,  ou  est-ce  bien  le  diable,  qui 
veut  toujours  que  faime  ies  coquins?'  I 
don't  know!  I  don't  know!  I  wonder  if 
Auber  has  composed  anything  lately?  I 
wonder  who  is  singing  'Zerlina'  now?" 

He  cast  a  farewell  look  at  the  ocean,  and 
took  his  steps  between  the  monastic  herbs, 
the  jasmines  and  the  oleanders  to  the  sac 
risty*  "  At  least,"  he  said,  "  if  we  cannot 
carry  with  tis  into  exile  the  friends  and  the 
places  we  have  loved,  music  will  go  whither 
we  go,  even  to  an  end  of  the  world  such  as 
this*  —  Felipe!"  he  called  to  his  organist* 
44  Can  they  sing  the  music  I  taught  them 
for  the  Dixit  Dominus  to-night?" 

"  Yes,  father,  surely*" 

44  Then  we  will  have  that.  And,  Felipe—" 
The  Padre  crossed  the  chancel  to  the  small, 
9 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

shabby  organ*  "  Rise,  my  child,  and  listen. 
Here  is  something  you  can  learn*  Why*  see 
now  if  you  cannot  learn  it  from  a  single 
hearing." 

The  swarthy  boy  of  sixteen  stood  watch 
ing  his  master's  fingers*  delicate  and  white, 
as  they  played*  Thus*  of  his  own  accord,  he 
had  begun  to  watch  them  when  a  child  of 
six;  and  the  Padre  had  taken  the  wild, 
half-scared,  spellbound  creature  and  made 
a  musician  of  him* 

"  There,  Felipe!"  he  said  now.  "  Can 
you  do  it?  Slower,  and  more  softly, 
muchacho  mio*  It  is  about  the  death 
of  a  man,  and  it  should  go  with  our 
bell." 

The  boy  listened*  "  Then  the  father  has 
played  it  a  tone  too  low,"  said  he,  "  for 
our  bell  rings  the  note  of  sol*  or  something 
very  near  it,  as  the  father  must  surely 
know."  He  placed  the  melody  in  the  right 
10 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

key — an  easy  thing  for  him;  and  the  Padre 
was  delighted* 

"  Ah,  my  Felipe/'  he  exclaimed,  "  what 
could  you  and  I  not  do  if  we  had  a  better 
organ!  Only  a  little  better !  See  !  above 
this  row  of  keys  would  be  a  second  row,  and 
many  more  stops*  Then  we  would  make 
such  music  as  has  never  yet  been  heard 
in  California*  But  my  people  are  so  poor 
and  so  few!  And  some  day  I  shall  have 
passed  from  them,  and  it  will  be  too  late*" 

44  Perhaps/'  ventured  Felipe, "  the  Ameri 


canos — " 


"They  care  nothing  for  us,  Felipe*  They 
are  not  of  our  religion — or  of  any  religion, 
from  what  I  can  hear*  Don't  forget  my 
Dixii  Dominus." 

The  Padre  retired  once  more  to  the 
sacristy,  while  the  horse  that  brought 
Temptation  came  over  the  hill* 

The  hour  of  service  drew  near;   and  as 

n 


PADRE     IGNACIO 

the  Padre  waited  he  once  again  stepped  out 
for  a  look  at  the  ocean;  but  the  blue  tri 
angle  of  water  lay  like  a  picture  in  its  frame 
of  land,  bare  as  the  sky*  "  I  think,  from 
the  color,  though,"  said  he,  "  that  a  little 
more  wind  must  have  begun  out  there/' 

The  bell  rang  a  last  short  summons  to 
prayer.  Along  the  road  from  the  south  a 
young  rider,  leading  a  pack-animal,  ambled 
into  the  mission  and  dismounted*  Church 
was  not  so  much  in  his  thoughts  as  food  and, 
after  due  digestion,  a  bed;  but  the  doors 
stood  open,  and,  as  everybody  was  passing 
within  them,  more  variety  was  to  be  gained 
by  joining  this  company  than  by  waiting 
outside  alone  until  they  should  return  from 
their  devotions*  So  he  seated  himself  in  a 
corner  near  the  entrance,  and  after  a  brief, 
jaunty  glance  at  the  sunburned,  shaggy  con 
gregation,  made  himself  as  comfortable  as 

might  be*    He  had  not  seen  a  face  worth 
12 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

keeping  his  eyes  open  for*  The  simple  choir 
and  simple  fold,  gathered  for  even-song,  paid 
him  no  attention — a  rough  American  bound 
for  the  mines  was  bat  an  object  of  aversion 
to  them. 

The  Padre,  of  course,  had  been  instantly 
aware  of  the  stranger's  presence*  To  be 
aware  of  unaccustomed  presences  is  the 
sixth  sense  with  vicars  of  every  creed  and 
heresy;  and  if  the  parish  is  lonely  and  the 
worshipers  few  and  seldom  varying,  a  new 
comer  will  gleam  out  like  a  new  book  to  be 
read*  And  a  trained  priest  learns  to  read 
keenly  the  faces  of  those  who  assemble  to 
worship  under  his  guidance*  But  Amer 
ican  vagrants,  with  no  thoughts  save  of  gold- 
digging,  and  an  overweening  illiterate  jar 
gon  for  speech,  had  long  ceased  to  interest 
this  priest,  even  in  his  starvation  for  com 
pany  and  talk  from  the  outside  world;  and 
therefore  after  the  intoning  he  sat  with  his 
3  J3 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

homesick  thoughts  unchanged,  to  draw  both 
pain  and  enjoyment  from  the  music  that 
he  had  set  to  the  Dixii  Dominas.  He 
listened  to  the  tender  chorus  that  opens 
William  Tell;  and,  as  the  Latin  psalm  pro 
ceeded,  pictures  of  the  past  rose  between 
him  and  the  altar*  One  after  another  came 
these  strains  he  had  taken  from  operas 
famous  in  their  day,  until  at  length  the 
Padre  was  murmuring  to  some  music  sel 
dom  long  out  of  his  heart — not  the  Latin 
verse  which  the  choir  sang,  but  the  original 
French  words: 

"Ah,  voila  mon  envie, 

Voila  mon  seal  desir: 
Rendez  moi  ma  patrie, 
Ott  laissez  moi   mottrir." 

Which  may  be  rendered: 

Bat  one  wish  I  implore, 

One  wish  is  all  my  cry: 
Give  back  my  native  land  once  more, 

Give  back,  or  let  me  die. 
J4 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

Then  it  happened  that  his  eye  fell  again 
upon  the  stranger  near  the  door,  and  he 
straightway  forgot  his  Dixit  Dominus.  The 
face  of  the  young  man  was  no  longer  hidden 
by  the  slouching  position  he  had  at  first 
taken*  44 1  only  noticed  his  clothes  at 
first,"  thought  the  Padre*  Restlessness  was 
plain  upon  the  handsome  brow,  and  violence 
was  in  the  mouth;  but  Padre  Ignacio  liked 
the  eyes*  "  He  is  not  saying  any  prayers/' 
he  surmised,  presently*  44 1  doubt  if  he  has 
said  any  for  a  long  while*  And  he  knows 
my  music*  He  is  of  educated  people*  He 
cannot  be  American*  And  now — yes,  he 
has  taken  —  I  think  it  must  be  a  flower, 
from  his  pocket*  I  shall  have  him  to  dine 
with  me*"  And  vespers  ended  with  rosy 
clouds  of  eagerness  drifting  across  the 
Padre's  brain* 


II 


UT  the  stranger  made  his  own  be 
ginning*  As  the  priest  came  from 
the  church,  the  rebellious  young 
figure  was  waiting*  "  Your  or 
ganist  tells  me,"  he  said,  impetu 
ously,  "  that  it  is  you  who — " 

44  May  I  ask  with  whom  I  have  the  great 
pleasure  of  speaking?"  said  the  Padre,  put 
ting  formality  to  the  front  and  his  pleasure 
out  of  sight* 

The  stranger's  face  reddened  beneath  its 
sun-beaten  bronze,  and  he  became  aware  of 
the  Padre's  pale  features*  molded  by  re 
finement  and  the  world*  **  I  beg  your  le 
nience,"  said  he,  with  a  graceful  and  con 
fident  utterance,  as  of  equal  to  equal.  "  My 
16 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

name  is  Gaston  Villere,  and  it  was  time  I 
should  be  reminded  of  my  manners/' 

The  Padre's  hand  waved  a  polite  nega 
tive. 

44  Indeed,  yest  Padre.  But  your  music 
has  amazed  me*  If  you  carried  such  as 
sociations  as —  Ah !  the  days  and  the 
nights  r — he  broke  off*  44  To  come  down 
a  California  mountain  and  find  Paris  at  the 
bottom!  The  Huguenots,  Rossini*  Herold 
— I  was  waiting  for  //  Trcfbaiore" 

44  Is  that  something  new?"  inquired  the 
Padre,  eagerly* 

The  young  man  gave  an  exclamation* 
"  The  whole  world  is  ringing  with  it!"  he 
cried. 

44  But  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar  is  a  long  way 
from  the  whole  world,"  murmured  Padre 
Ignacio. 

44  Indeed,  it  would  not  appear  to  be  so," 
returned  young  Gaston*  "  I  think  the 
17 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

Comedie    Francaise    must    be    round    the 


corner/' 


A  thrill  went  through  the  priest  at  the 
theater's  name*  "  And  have  you  been  long 
in  America  ?"  he  asked* 

"Why,  always — except  two  years  of  for 
eign  travel  after  college/' 

"  An  American!"  exclaimed  the  surprised 
Padre,  with  perhaps  a  tone  of  disappoint 
ment  in  his  voice*  *4  But  no  Americans 
who  are  yet  come  this  way  have  been — have 
been  " — he  veiled  the  too-blunt  expression 
of  his  thought — "  have  been  familiar  with 
The  Huguenots"  he  f  inished*  making  a  slight 
bow* 

Villere  took  his  under-meaning*  "  I  come 
from  New  Orleans/'  he  returned*  "  And  in 
New  Orleans  there  live  many  of  us  who  can 
recognize  a — who  can  recognize  good  music 
wherever  we  hear  it/'  And  he  made  a 
slight  bow  in  his  turn. 
IS 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

The  Padre  laughed  outright  with  pleasure 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  yotmg  man's 
arm*  "  You  have  no  intention  of  going 
away  to-morrow,  I  trust?" 

"  With  your  leave,"  answered  Gaston,  "  I 
will  have  such  an  intention  no  longer/' 

It  was  with  the  air  and  gait  of  mutual 
understanding  that  the  two  now  walked 
on  together  toward  the  Padre's  door.  The 
guest  was  twenty-five,  the  host  sixty. 

"  And  have  you  been  in  America  long?" 
inquired  Gaston. 

"  Twenty  years." 

"  And  at  Santa  Ysabel  how  long?" 

44  Twenty  years." 

44 1  should  have  thought,"  said  Gaston, 
looking  lightly  at  the  desert  and  unpeopled 
mountains,  44  that  now  and  again  you  might 
have  wished  to  travel." 

14  Were  I  your  age,"  murmured  Padre  Ig- 
nacio,  "it  might  be  so." 
19 


PADRE     IGNACIO 

The  evening  had  now  ripened  to  the  long 
after-glow  of  sunset*  The  sea  was  the  pur 
ple  of  grapes*  and  wine-colored  hues  flowed 
among  the  high  shoulders  of  the  mountains* 

44 1  have  seen  a  sight  like  this,"  said  Gas- 
ton,  "  between  Granada  and  Malaga*" 

"  So  you  know  Spain!"  said  the  Padre* 

Often  he  had  thought  of  this  resemblance, 
but  never  till  now  met  any  one  to  share  his 
thought*  The  courtly  proprietor  of  San 
Fernando  and  the  other  patriarchal  ran- 
cheros  with  whom  he  occasionally  exchanged 
visits  across  the  wilderness  knew  hospitality 
and  inherited  gentle  manners,  sending  to 
Europe  for  silks  and  laces  to  give  their 
daughters;  but  their  eyes  had  not  looked 
upon  Granada,  and  their  ears  had  never 
listened  to  William  Tell 

44  It  is  quite  singular,"  pursued  Gaston, 
44  how  one  nook  in  the  world  will  suddenly 

remind  you  of  another  nook  that  may  be 
20 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

thousands  of  miles  away*  One  morning, 
behind  the  Quai  Voltaire,  an  old,  yellow 
house  with  rtisty  balconies  made  me  almost 
homesick  for  New  Orleans/' 

"  The  Quai  Voltaire!"  said  the  Padre. 

"  I  heard  Rachel  in  Valerie  that  night," 
the  young  man  went  on*  "  Did  you  know 
that  she  could  sing,  too?  She  sang  several 
verses  by  an  astonishing  little  Jew  violon 
cellist  that  is  come  up  over  there." 

The  Padre  gazed  down  at  his  blithe  guest. 
"  To  see  somebody,  somebody,  once  again, 
is  very  pleasant  to  a  hermit!" 

44  It  cannot  be  more  pleasant  than  arriv 
ing  at  an  oasis,"  returned  Gaston. 

They  had  delayed  on  the  threshold  to  look 
at  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  and  now  the 
priest  watched  his  parishioners  come  and 
go*  "  How  can  one  make  companions — " 
he  began;  then,  checking  himself,  he  said: 

"  Their  souls  are  as  sacred  and  immortal  as 
4  2J 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

mine,  and  God  helps  me  to  help  them*  Btrt 
in  this  world  it  is  not  immortal  souls  that  we 
choose  for  companions;  it  is  kindred  tastes, 
intelligences,  and — and  so  I  and  my  books 
are  growing  old  together,  you  see,"  he  add 
ed,  more  lightly.  *  You  will  find  my  vol 
umes  as  behind  the  times  as  myself/' 

He  had  fallen  into  talk  more  intimate 
than  he  wished;  and  while  the  guest  was 
uttering  something  polite  about  the  nobility 
of  missionary  work,  he  placed  him  in  an 
easy -chair  and  sought  aguardiente  for  his 
immediate  refreshment.  Since  the  year's 
beginning  there  had  been  no  guest  for  him 
to  bring  into  his  rooms,  or  to  sit  beside  him 
in  the  high  seats  at  table,  set  apart  for  the 
genie  fina. 

Such  another  library  was  not  then  in 

California;    and  though  Gaston  Villere,  in 

leaving  Harvard  College,  had  shut  Horace 

and  Sophocles  for  ever  at  the  earliest  in- 

22 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

slant  possible  tinder  academic  requirements, 
he  knew  the  Greek  and  Latin  names  that  he 
now  saw  as  well  as  he  knew  those  of  Shak- 
spere,  Dante,  Moliere,  and  Cervantes.  These 
were  here  also;  but  it  could  not  be  precisely 
said  of  them,  either,  that  they  made  a  part 
of  the  young  man's  daily  reading.  As  he 
surveyed  the  Padre's  august  shelves,  it  was 
with  a  touch  of  the  histrionic  Southern  grav 
ity  which  his  Northern  education  had  not 
wholly  schooled  out  of  him  that  he  said: 

44 1  fear  I  am  no  scholar,  sir*  But  I  know 
what  writers  every  gentleman  ought  to  re 
spect/' 

The  polished  Padre  bowed  gravely  to  this 
compliment. 

It  was  when  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  the 
music  that  the  young  man  felt  again  at 
ease,  and  his  vivacity  returned  to  him. 
Leaving  his  chair,  he  began  enthusiastically 
to  examine  the  tall  piles  that  filled  one  side 
23 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

of  the  room*  The  volumes  lay  piled  and 
scattered  everywhere,  making  a  pleasant 
disorder;  and,  as  perfume  comes  from  a 
flower,  memories  of  singers  and  chandeliers 
rose  bright  from  the  printed  names*  Norma, 
Tancredi*  Don  Pasquale,  La  Vestale*  dim 
lights  in  the  fashions  of  to-day*  sparkled 
upon  the  exploring  Gaston,  conjuring  the 
radiant  halls  of  Europe  before  him*  "  The 
Barber  of  Seville  I"  he  presently  exclaimed* 
"  And  I  happened  to  hear  it  in  Seville*" 

But  Seville's  name  brought  over  the  Pa 
dre  a  new  rush  of  home  thoughts.  "  Is 
not  Andalusia  beautiful?"  he  said*  "Did 
you  see  it  in  April,  when  the  flowers 
come?" 

44  Yes,"  said  Gaston,  among  the  music. 
44 1  was  at  Cordova  then*" 

"  Ah,  Cordova!"  murmured  the  Padre. 

"  Semiramide  /"  cried  Gaston,  lighting 
upon  that  opera*  "  That  was  a  week!  I 
24 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

should  like  to  live  it  over,  every  day  and 
night  of  it!" 

44  Did  you  reach  Malaga  from  Marseilles 
or  Gibraltar?"  asked  the  Padre,  wistfully. 

44  From  Marseilles*  Down  from  Paris 
through  the  Rhone  Valley,  you  know/' 

"  Then  you  saw  Provence!  And  did  you 
go,  perhaps,  from  Avignon  to  Nismes  by 
the  Pont  du  Gard?  There  is  a  place  I  have 
made  here — a  little,  little  place — with  olive- 
trees*  And  now  they  have  grown,  and  it 
looks  something  like  that  country,  if  you 
stand  in  a  particular  position*  I  will  take 
you  there  to-morrow*  I  think  you  will 
understand  what  I  mean*" 

"Another  resemblance!"  said  the  volatile 
and  happy  Gaston*  "  We  both  seem  to 
have  an  eye  for  them*  But,  believe  me, 
Padre,  I  could  never  stay  here  planting 
olives*  I  should  go  back  and  see  the  origi 
nal  ones— and  then  Fd  hasten  on  to  Paris*" 
25 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

And,  with  a  volume  of  Meyerbeer  open  in 
his  hand,  Gaston  hummed:  "  *  Robert,  Rob 
ert,  toi  que  j'aime/  Why,  Padre,  I  think 
that  your  library  contains  none  of  the 
masses  and  all  of  the  operas  in  the  world !" 

44 1  will  make  you  a  little  confession/' 
said  Padre  Ignacio,  "  and  then  you  shall 
give  me  a  little  absolution/' 

"  For  a  penance/'  said  Gaston ;  44  you 
must  play  over  some  of  these  things  to  me/' 

**  I  suppose  I  could  not  permit  myself 
this  luxury,"  began  the  Padre,  pointing  to 
his  operas,  44  and  teach  these  to  my  choir, 
if  the  people  had  any  worldly  associations 
with  the  music*  But  I  have  reasoned  that 
the  music  cannot  do  them  harm — " 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  here  interrupted 
him*  44  In  fifteen  minutes,"  he  said,  44  our 
poor  meal  will  be  ready  for  you."  The  good 
Padre  was  not  quite  sincere  when  he  spoke 
of  a  "  poor  meal/'  While  getting  the  aguar- 
26 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

diente  for  his  guest  he  had  given  orders,  and 
he  knew  how  well  such  orders  would  be  car 
ried  out*  He  lived  alone,  and  generally 
sapped  simply  enough,  but  not  even  the 
ample  table  at  San  Fernando  could  surpass 
his  own  on  occasions*  And  this  was  for  him 
indeed  an  occasion! 

'*  Your  half-breeds  will  think  I  am  one  of 
themselves/'  said  Gaston*  showing  his  dusty 
clothes*  "  I  am  not  fit  to  be  seated  with 
you/'  But  he  did  not  mean  this  any  more 
than  his  host  had  meant  his  remark  about 
the  food*  In  his  pack,  which  an  Indian  had 
brought  from  his  horse,  he  carried  some 
garments  of  civilization*  And  presently, 
after  fresh  water  and  not  a  little  painstak 
ing  with  brush  and  scarf,  there  came  back 
to  the  Padre  a  young  guest  whose  elegance 
and  bearing  and  ease  of  the  great  world 
were  to  the  exiled  priest  as  sweet  as  was  his 
traveled  conversation* 
27 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

They  repaired  to  the  hall  and  took  their 
seats  at  the  head  of  the  long  table*  For 
the  Spanish  centuries  of  stately  custom 
lived  at  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar*  inviolate* 
feudal*  remote* 

They  were  the  only  persons  of  quality 
present;  and  between  themselves  and  the 
genie  de  razon  a  space  intervened.  Behind 
the  Padre's  chair  stood  an  Indian  to  wait 
upon  him*  and  another  stood  behind  the 
chair  of  Gaston  Villere*  Each  of  these  ser 
vants  wore  one  single  white  garment*  and 
offered  the  many  dishes  to  the  genie  fina 
and  refilled  their  glasses*  At  the  lower  end 
of  the  table  a  general  attendant  waited 
upon  mesdados — the  half-breeds*  There  was 
meat  with  spices*  and  roasted  quail,  with 
various  cakes  and  other  preparations  of 
grain;  also  the  brown  fresh  olives  and 
grapes*  with  several  sorts  of  figs  and  plums* 
and  preserved  fruits,  and  white  and  red 
28 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

wine — the  white  fifty  years  old.  Beneath 
the  quiet  shining  of  candles,  fresh-cut  flow 
ers  leaned  from  vessels  of  old  Mexican  and 
Spanish  make* 

There  at  one  end  of  this  feast  sat  the  wild, 
pastoral*  gaudy  company,  speaking  little 
over  their  food;  and  there  at  the  other  the 
pale  Padre*  questioning  his  visitor  about 
Rachel*  The  mere  name  of  a  street  would 
bring  memories  crowding  to  his  lips;  and 
when  his  guest  told  him  of  a  new  play  he 
was  ready  with  old  quotations  from  the  same 
author*  Alfred  de  Vigny  they  spoke  of, 
and  Victor  Hugo,  whom  the  Padre  disliked* 
Long  after  the  duke,  or  sweet  dish,  when  it 
was  the  custom  for  the  vaqueros  and  the 
rest  of  the  retainers  to  rise  and  leave  the 
genie  fina  to  themselves*  the  host  sat  on  in 
the  empty  hall,  fondly  talking  to  his  guest 
of  his  bygone  Paris  and  fondly  learning  of 
the  later  Paris  that  the  guest  had  seen*  And 

5  29 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

thus  the  two  lingered,  exchanging  their  en 
thusiasms,  while  the  candles  waned,  and  the 
long-haired  Indians  stood  silent  behind  the 
chairs* 

"  Bat  we  mast  go  to  my  piano,"  the  host 
exclaimed*  For  at  length  they  had  come 
to  a  lusty  difference  of  opinion.  The  Padre, 
with  ears  critically  deaf,  and  with  smiling, 
unconvinced  eyes,  was  shaking  his  head, 
while  young  Gaston  sang  Trovaiore  at  him, 
and  beat  upon  the  table  with  a  fork* 

44  Come  and  convert  me,  then,"  said  Padre 
Ignacio,  and  he  led  the  way*  44  Donizetti  I 
have  always  admitted*  There,  at  least,  is 
refinement*  If  the  world  has  taken  to  this 
Verdi,  with  his  street-band  music —  But 
there,  now!  Sit  down  and  convert  me* 
Only  don't  crush  my  poor  little  Erard  with 
Verdi's  hoofs*  I  brought  it  when  I  came. 
It  is  behind  the  times,  too*  And,  oh,  my 
dear  boy,  our  organ  is  still  worse*  So  old, 
30 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

so  old!  To  get  a  proper  one  I  would  sacri 
fice  even  this  piano  of  mine  in  a  moment — 
only  the  tinkling  thing  is  not  worth  a  sou 
to  anybody  except  its  master*  But  there! 
Are  you  quite  comfortable  ?"  And  having 
seen  to  his  guest's  needs,  and  placed  spirits 
and  cigars  and  an  ash-tray  within  his  reach, 
the  Padre  sat  himself  comfortably  in  his 
chair  to  hear  and  expose  the  false  doctrine  of 
77  Trdbatore. 

By  midnight  all  of  the  opera  that  Gaston 
could  recall  had  been  played  and  sung  twice* 
The  convert  sat  in  his  chair  no  longer,  but 
stood  singing  by  the  piano*  The  potent 
swing  and  flow  of  rhythms,  the  torrid,  copi 
ous  inspiration  of  the  South,  mastered  him* 
44  Verdi  has  grown/'  he  cried*  "  Verdi  is 
become  a  giant*"  And  he  swayed  to  the 
beat  of  the  melodies,  and  waved  an  en 
thusiastic  arm*  He  demanded  every  note* 

Why  did  not  Gaston  remember  it  all?    But 
31 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

if  the  barkentine  would  arrive  and  bring  the 
whole  music,  then  they  would  have  it  right! 
And  he  made  Gaston  teach  him  what  words 
he  knew*  *  Non  ti  scordar/  "  he  sang — 

*  non  ti  scordar  di  me/  That  is  genius. 
But  one  sees  how  the  world  moves  when  one 
is  out  of  it*  '  A  nostri  monti  ritorneremo'; 
home  to  our  mountains.  Ah,  yes.  there  is 
genius  again/'  And  the  exile  sighed  and 
his  spirit  voyaged  to  distant  places*  while 
Gaston  continued  brilliantly  with  the  music 
of  the  final  scene. 

Then  the  host  remembered  his  guest.  "  I 
am  ashamed  of  my  selfishness,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  already  to-morrow/' 

"  I  have  sat  later  in  less  good  company/' 
answered  the  pleasant  Gaston.  "  And  I  shall 
sleep  all  the  sounder  for  making  a  convert/' 

14  You   have   dispensed   roadside   alms/' 
said  the  Padre,  smiling.    "  And  that  should 
win  excellent  dreams." 
32 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

Thus,  with  courtesies  more  elaborate  than 
the  world  has  time  for  at  the  present  day, 
they  bade  each  other  good-night  and  parted, 
bearing  their  late  candles  along  the  quiet 
halls  of  the  mission*  To  young  Gaston  in 
his  bed  easy  sleep  came  without  waiting, 
and  no  dreams  at  all.  Outside  his  open 
window  was  the  quiet,  serene  darkness, 
where  the  stars  shone  clear,  and  tranquil 
perfumes  hung  in  the  cloisters*  But  while 
the  guest  lay  sleeping  all  night  in  unchanged 
position  like  a  child,  up  and  down  between 
the  oleanders  went  Padre  Ignacio,  walking 
until  dawn.  Temptation  indeed  had  come 
over  the  hill  and  entered  the  cloisters* 


in 


AY  showed  the  ocean's  surface  no 
longer  glassy,  but  lying  tike  a  mir 
ror  breathed  upon;  and  there  be 
tween  the  short  headlands  came  a 
sail,  gray  and  plain  against  the 
flat  water*  The  priest  watched  through  his 
glasses,  and  saw  the  gradual  sun  grow  strong 
upon  the  canvas  of  the  barkentine*  The 
message  from  his  world  was  at  hand,  yet 
to-day  he  scarcely  cared  so  much.  Sitting 
in  his  garden  yesterday,  he  could  never  have 
imagined  such  a  change.  But  his  heart  did 
not  hail  the  barkentine  as  usual.  Books, 
music,  pale  paper,  and  print — this  was  all 
that  was  coming  to  him,  and  some  of  its 

savor  had  gone;  for  the  siren  voice  of  Life 
34 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

had  been  speaking  with  him  face  to  face,  and 
in  his  spirit,  deep  down,  the  love  of  the 
world  was  restlessly  answering  it.  Young 
Gaston  showed  more  eagerness  than  the 
Padre  over  this  arrival  of  the  vessel  that 
might  be  bringing  Trobatore  in  the  nick 
of  time.  Now  he  would  have  the  chance, 
before  he  took  his  leave,  to  help  rehearse  the 
new  music  with  the  choir.  He  would  be  a 
missionary,  too:  a  perfectly  new  experience. 

44  And  you  still  forgive  Verdi  the  sins  of 
his  youth?"  he  said  to  his  host.  44 1  won 
der  if  you  could  forgive  mine?" 

"  Verdi  has  left  his  behind  him,"  retorted 
the  Padre. 

44  But  I  am  only  twenty-five!"  exclaimed 
Gaston,  pathetically. 

"  Ah,  don't  go  away  soon!"  pleaded  the 
exile.  It  was  the  first  unconcealed  com 
plaint  that  had  escaped  him,  and  he  felt 
instant  shame. 

35 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

But  Gaston  was  too  much  elated  with  the 
enjoyment  of  each  new  day  to  comprehend 
the  Padre's  soul*  The  shafts  of  another's 
pain  might  hardly  pierce  the  bright  armor 
of  his  gaiety.  He  mistook  the  priest's  en 
treaty,  for  anxiety  about  his  own  happy 
spirit. 

44  Stay  here  under  your  care?"  he  asked. 
44  It  would  do  me  no  goodt  Padre.  Tempta 
tion  sticks  closer  to  me  than  a  brother!" 
and  he  gave  that  laugh  of  his  which  had  dis 
armed  severer  judges  than  his  host.  "  By 
next  week  I  should  have  introduced  some 
sin  or  other  into  your  beautiful  Garden  of 
Ignorance  here.  It  will  be  much  safer  for 
your  flock  if  I  go  and  join  the  other  serpents 
at  San  Francisco." 

Soon  after  breakfast  the  Padre  had  his 

two  mules  saddled,  and  he  and  his  guest 

set  forth  down  the  hills  together  to  the 

shore.    And,  beneath  the  spell  and  confi- 

36 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

dence  of  pleasant,  slow  riding  and  the 
loveliness  of  everything,  the  young  man 
talked  freely  of  himself* 

44  And,  seriously,"  said  he,  "  if  I  missed 
nothing  else  at  Santa  Ysabel,  I  should  long 
for — how  shall  I  say  it? — for  insecurity,  for 
danger,  and  of  all  kinds — not  merely  danger 
to  the  body*  Within  these  walls,  beneath 
these  sacred  bells,  you  live  too  safe  for  a  man 
like  me/' 

44  Too  safe!"  These  echoed  words  upon 
the  lips  of  the  pale  Padre  were  a  whisper 
too  light,  too  deep,  for  Gaston's  heedless 
ear* 

**  Why,"  the  young  man  pursued  in  a 
spirit  that  was  but  half  levity,  44  though  I 
yield  often  to  temptation,  at  times  I  have 
resisted  it,  and  here  I  should  miss  the  very 
chance  to  resist*  Your  garden  could  never 
be  Eden  for  me,  because  temptation  is  ab 
sent  from  it*" 

6  37 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

44  Absent!''  Still  lighter,  still  deeper,  was 
this  whisper  that  the  Padre  breathed* 

44 1  must  find  life!"  exclaimed  Gaston* 
"  And  my  fortune  at  the  mines,  I  hope*  I 
am  not  a  bad  fellow,  Father*  You  can  easily 
guess  all  the  things  I  do*  I  have  never,  to 
my  knowledge,  harmed  any  one*  I  didn't 
even  try  to  kill  my  adversary  in  an  affair 
of  honor*  I  gave  him  a  mere  flesh-woimd, 
and  by  this  time  he  must  be  quite  recovered* 
He  was  my  friend*  But  as  he  came  between 


me—" 


Gaston  stopped,  and  the  Padre,  looking 
keenly  at  him,  saw  the  violence  that  he  had 
noticed  in  church  pass  like  a  flame  over  the 
young  man's  handsome  face. 

"There's  nothing  dishonorable,"  said  Gas- 
ton,  answering  the  priest's  look*  And  then, 
because  this  look  made  him  not  quite  at  his 
ease:  "  Perhaps  a  priest  might  feel  obliged 
to  say  it  was  dishonorable*  She  and  her 
38 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

father  were — a  man  owes  no  fidelity  before 
he  is — but  you  might  say  that  had  been  dis 
honorable/' 

44 1  have  not  said  so,  my  son/' 

44 1  did  what  every  gentleman  would  do," 
insisted  Gaston* 

44  And  that  is  often  wrong!"  said  the 
Padre,  gently  and  gravely*  44  But  I'm  not 
your  confessor/' 

44  No,"  said  Gaston,  looking  down*  44  And 
it  is  all  over*  It  will  not  begin  again*  Since 
leaving  New  Orleans  I  have  traveled  an  in 
nocent  journey  straight  to  you*  And  when 
I  make  my  fortune  I  shall  be  in  a  position 
to  return  and — " 

44  Claim  the  pressed  flower?"  suggested  the 
Padre*  He  did  not  smile* 

44  Ah,  you  remember  how  those  things 
are!"  said  Gaston;  and  he  laughed  and 
blushed* 

44  Yes,"  said  the  Padre,  looking  at  the  an- 
39 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

chored  barkentine,  4t  I  remember  how  those 
things  are/' 

For  a  while  the  vessel  and  its  cargo  and 
the  landed  men  and  various  business  and 
conversations  occupied  them*  But  the 
freight  for  the  mission  once  seen  to,  there 
was  not  much  else  to  detain  them* 

The  barkentine  was  only  a  coaster  like 
many  others  which  had  began  to  fill  the  sea 
a  little  more  of  late  years,  and  presently 
host  and  guest  were  riding  homeward* 
Side  by  side  they  rode*  companions  to  the 
eye.  but  wide  apart  in  mood;  within  the 
turbulent  young  figure  of  Gaston  dwelt  a 
spirit  that  could  not  be  more  at  ease*  while 
revolt  was  steadily  kindling  beneath  the 
schooled  and  placid  mask  of  the  Padre* 

Yet  still  the  strangeness  of  his  situation 

in  such  a  remote*  resourceless  place  came 

back  as  a  marvel  into  the  young  man's  lively 

mind.    Twenty  years  in  prison*  he  thought* 

40 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

and  hardly  aware  of  it!  And  he  glanced  at 
the  silent  priest.  A  man  so  evidently  fond 
of  music,  of  theaters,  of  the  world,  to  whom 
pressed  flowers  had  meant  something  once 
— and  now  contented  to  bleach  upon  these 
wastes!  Not  even  desirous  of  a  brief  holi 
day,  but  finding  an  old  organ  and  some  old 
operas  enough  recreation!  "  It  is  his  age,  I 
suppose,"  thought  Gaston*  And  then  the 
notion  of  himself  when  he  should  be  sixty 
occurred  to  him,  and  he  spoke* 

44  Do  you  know,  I  do  not  believe,"  said 
he,  44  that  I  should  ever  reach  such  con 
tentment  as  yours/' 

44  Perhaps  you  will,"  said  Padre  Ignacio, 
in  a  low  voice* 

44  Never!"  declared  the  youth*  44  It  comes 
only  to  the  few,  I  am  sure*" 

14  Yes*  Only  to  the  few,"  murmured  the 
Padre* 

"  I  am  certain  that  it  must  be  a  great 
41 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

possession,"  Gaston  continued;  "  and  yet 
— and  yet — dear  me!  life  is  a  splendid 
thing!" 

44  There  are  several  ways  to  live  it,"  said 
the  Padre. 

44  Only  one  for  me!"  cried  Gaston.  "Ac 
tion,  men,  women,  things — to  be  there,  to 
be  known,  to  play  a  part,  to  sit  in  the 
front  seats;  to  have  people  tell  one  another, 
4  There  goes  Gaston  VillereT  and  to  deserve 
one's  prominence.  Why,  if  I  were  Padre 
of  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar  for  twenty  years — 
no!  for  one  year — do  you  know  what  I 
should  have  done?  Some  day  it  would 
have  been  too  much  for  me.  I  should  have 
left  these  savages  to  a  pastor  nearer  their 
own  level,  and  I  should  have  ridden  down 
this  canon  upon  my  mule,  and  stepped  on 
board  the  barkentine,  and  gone  back  to  my 
proper  sphere.  You  will  understand,  sir, 
that  I  am  far  from  venturing  to  make  any 
42 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

personal  comment*  I  am  only  thinking 
what  a  world  of  difference  lies  between 
natures  that  can  feel  as  alike  as  we  do  upon 
so  many  subjects*  Why.  not  since  leaving 
New  Orleans  have  I  met  any  one  with  whom 
I  could  talk,  except  of  the  weather  and  the 
brute  interests  common  to  us  all.  That 
such  a  one  as  you  should  be  here  is  like  a 
dream*" 

44  But  it  is  not  a  dream/'  said  the  Padre* 

44  And,  sir — pardon  me  if  I  do  say  this — 
are  you  not  wasted  at  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar? 
I  have  seen  the  priests  at  the  other  missions* 
They  are — the  sort  of  good  men  that  I  ex 
pected*  But  are  you  needed  to  save  such 
souls  as  these?" 

"  There  is  no  aristocracy  of  souls,"  said 
the  Padre,  again  whispering* 

"  But  the  body  and  the  mind!"  cried  Gas- 
ton.  44  My  God,  are  they  nothing?  Do  you 
think  that  they  are  given  to  us  for  nothing 
43 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

but  a  trap?  You  cannot  teach  such  a  doc 
trine  with  your  library  there.  And  how 
about  all  the  cultivated  men  and  women 
away  from  whose  quickening  society  the 
brightest  of  us  grow  numb?  You  have  held 
out.  But  will  it  be  for  long?  Are  you 
never  to  save  any  souls  of  your  own  kind  ? 
Are  not  twenty  years  of  mesdados  enough? 
No,  no!"  finished  young  Gastont  hot  with 
his  unforeseen  eloquence;  "  I  should  ride 
down  some  morning  and  take  the  barken- 
tine." 

Padre  Ignacio  was  silent  for  a  space. 

44 1  have  not  offended  you?"  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  No.  Anything  but  that.  You  are  sur 
prised  that  I  should — choose — to  stay  here. 
Perhaps  you  may  have  wondered  how  I 
came  to  be  here  at  all?" 

"  I  had  not  intended  any  impertinent — " 

"  Oh  no.  Put  such  an  idea  out  of  your 
44 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

head,  my  son.    You  may  remember  that  I 
was  going  to  make  you  a  confession  about 
my  operas.    Let  us  sit  down  in  this  shade/' 
So   they   picketed   the   mules   near   the 
stream  and  sat  down. 
7 


IV 


- 


•HJ 


OU  have  seen,"  began  Padre 
Ignacio,  "what  sort  of  a  man 
I — was  once*  Indeed,  it  seems 
very  strange  to  myself  that  you 
should  have  been  here  not 
twenty-four  hours  yet,  and  know  so  much  of 
me*  For  there  has  come  no  one  else  at  all " 
— the  Padre  paused  a  moment  and  mastered 
the  unsteadiness  that  he  had  felt  approach 
ing  in  his  voice — "  there  has  been  no  one  else 
to  whom  I  have  talked  so  freely*  In  my 
early  days  I  had  no  thought  of  being  a  priest. 
My  parents  destined  me  for  a  diplomatic 
career*  There  was  plenty  of  money  and — 
and  all  the  rest  of  it;  for  by  inheritance 
came  to  me  the  acquaintance  of  many  peo- 
46 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

pie  whose  names  you  would  be  likely  to 
have  heard  of.  Cities,  people  of  fashion, 
artists — the  whole  of  it  was  my  element 
and  my  choice;  and  by-and-by  I  married, 
not  only  where  it  was  desirable,  but  where 
I  loved.  Then  for  the  first  time  Death 
laid  his  staff  upon  my  enchantment,  and  I 
understood  many  things  that  had  been  only 
words  to  me  hitherto.  To  have  been  a  hus 
band  for  a  year,  and  a  father  for  a  moment, 
and  in  that  moment  to  lose  all — this  un- 
blinded  me.  Looking  back,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  never  done  anything  except 
for  myself  all  my  days.  I  left  the  world. 
In  due  time  I  became  a  priest  and  lived  in 
my  own  country.  But  my  worldly  expe 
rience  and  my  secular  education  had  given 
to  my  opinions  a  turn  too  liberal  for  the 
place  where  my  work  was  laid.  I  was  soon 
advised  concerning  this  by  those  in  au 
thority  over  me.  And  since  they  could  not 
47 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

change  me  and  I  could  not  change  them, 
yet  wished  to  work  and  to  teach,  the  New 
World  was  suggested,  and  I  volunteered  to 
give  the  rest  of  my  life  to  missions.  It  was 
soon  found  that  some  one  was  needed  here, 
and  for  this  little  place  I  sailed,  and  to  these 
humble  people  I  have  dedicated  my  service* 
They  are  pastoral  creatures  of  the  soil. 
Their  vineyard  and  cattle  days  are  apt  to 
be  like  the  sun  and  storm  around  them — 
strong  alike  in  their  evil  and  in  their  good. 
All  their  years  they  live  as  children — chil 
dren  with  men's  passions  given  to  them  like 
deadly  weapons,  unable  to  measure  the  harm 
their  impulses  may  bring.  Hence,  even  in 
their  crimes,  their  hearts  will  generally  open 
soon  to  the  one  great  key  of  love,  while  civili 
zation  makes  locks  which  that  key  cannot 
always  fit  at  the  first  turn.  And  coming  to 
know  this/'  said  Padre  Ignacio,  fixing  his 
eyes  steadily  upon  Gaston,  "  you  will  under- 
48 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

stand  how  great  a  privilege  it  is  to  help  stich 
people,  and  how  the  sense  of  something 
accomplished  —  under  God  —  should  bring 
Contentment  with  Renunciation/' 

"  Yes/'  said  Gaston  Villere*  Then,  think 
ing  of  himself, "  I  can  understand  it  in  a  man 
like  you/' 

44  Do  not  speak  of  me  at  all!"  exclaimed 
the  Padre,  almost  passionately*  "  But  pray 
Heaven  that  you  may  find  the  thing  your 
self  some  day — Contentment  with  Renun 
ciation — and  never  let  it  go/' 

44  Amen!"  said  Gaston,  strangely  moved. 

"  That  is  the  whole  of  my  story,"  the 
priest  continued,  with  no  more  of  the  recent 
stress  in  his  voice*  "  And  now  I  have  talked 
to  you  about  myself  quite  enough*  But 
you  must  have  my  confession*"  He  had 
now  resumed  entirely  his  half-playful  tone* 
44 1  was  just  a  little  mistaken,  you  see — too 

self-reliant,  perhaps — when  I  supposed,  in 
49 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

my  first  missionary  ardor,  that  I  could  get 
on  without  any  remembrance  of  the  world 
at  all*  I  found  that  I  could  not*  And  so 
I  have  taught  the  old  operas  to  my  choir- 
such  parts  of  them  as  are  within  our  com 
pass  and  suitable  for  worship*  And  cer 
tain  of  my  friends  still  alive  at  home  are 
good  enough  to  remember  this  taste  of 
mine  and  to  send  me  each  year  some  of  the 
new  music  that  I  should  never  hear  of 
otherwise*  Then  we  study  these  things 
also.  And  although  our  organ  is  a  miser 
able  affair*  Felipe  manages  very  cleverly 
to  make  it  do*  And  while  the  voices  are 
singing  these  operas,  especially  the  old 
ones,  what  harm  is  there  if  sometimes  the 
priest  is  thinking  of  something  else?  So 
there's  my  confession!  And  now,  whether 
Trovatore  is  come  or  not,  I  shall  not  allow 
you  to  leave  us  until  you  have  taught  all 

you  know  of  it  to  Felipe*" 
50 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

The  new  opera,  however,  had  duly  ar 
rived*  And  as  he  turned  its  pages  Padre 
Ignacio  was  quick  to  seize  at  once  upon  the 
music  that  could  be  taken  into  his  church* 
Some  of  it  was  ready  fitted*  By  that  after 
noon  Felipe  and  his  choir  could  have  ren 
dered  "  Ah!  se  1'  error  t'  ingombra  "  with 
out  slip  or  falter* 

Those  were  strange  rehearsals  of  77 
Trwatore  upon  this  California  shore*  For 
the  Padre  looked  to  Gaston  to  say  when 
they  went  too  fast  or  too  slow,  and  to  correct 
their  emphasis*  And  since  it  was  hot,  the 
little  Erard  piano  was  carried  each  day  out 
into  the  mission  garden*  There,  in  the 
cloisters  among  the  jessamine,  the  orange 
blossoms,  the  oleanders,  in  the  presence  of 
the  round  yellow  hills  and  the  blue  triangle 
of  sea,  the  Miserere  was  slowly  learned*  The 
Mexicans  and  Indians  gathered,  swarthy 
and  black-haired,  around  the  tinkling  in- 
5J 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

strument  that  Felipe  played;  and  presiding 
over  them  were  young  Gaston  and  the  pale 
Padre,  walking  up  and  down  the  paths, 
beating  time  or  singing  now  one  part  and 
now  another*  And  so  it  was  that  the  wild 
cattle  on  the  uplands  would  hear  Trwa- 
tore  hummed  by  a  passing  fyaquero,  while 
the  same  melody  was  filling  the  streets  of 
the  far-off  world* 

For  three  days  Gaston  Villere  remained 
at  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mar;  and  though  not 
a  word  of  restlessness  came  from  him,  his 
host  could  read  San  Francisco  and  the  gold 
mines  in  his  countenance.  No,  the  young 
man  could  not  have  stayed  here  for  twenty 
years!  And  the  Padre  forbore  urging  his 
guest  to  extend  his  visit* 

"  But  the  world  is  small,"  the  guest  de 
clared  at  parting*  "  Some  day  it  will 
not  be  able  to  spare  you  any  longer* 

And    then   we    are    sure    to    meet.     But 
52 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

you   shall   hear    from    me    soon,    at    any 
rate/' 

Again,  as  upon  the  first  evening,  the  two 
exchanged  a  few  courtesies,  more  graceful 
and  particular  than  we,  who  have  not  time, 
and  fight  no  duels,  find  worth  a  man's 
while  at  the  present  day*  For  duels  are 
gone,  which  is  a  very  good  thing,  and  with 
them  a  certain  careful  politeness,  which  is 
a  pity;  but  that  is  the  way  in  the  eternal 
profit  and  loss*  So  young  Gaston  rode 
northward  out  of  the  mission,  back  to  the 
world  and  his  fortune;  and  the  Padre  stood 
watching  the  dust  after  the  rider  had  passed 
from  sight*  Then  he  went  into  his  room 
with  a  drawn  face*  But  appearances  at 
least  had  been  kept  up  to  the  end;  the 
youth  would  never  know  of  the  elder  man's 
unrest* 

8 


EMPTATION  had  arrived  with 
Gastont  but  was  destined  to  make 
a  longer  stay  at  Santa  Ysabel  del 
Mar.  Yet  it  was  perhaps  a  week 
before  the  priest  knew  this  guest 
was  come  to  abide  with  him.  The  guest 
could  be  discreet,  could  withdraw,  was  not 
at  first  importunate. 

Sail  away  on  the  barkentine?  A  wild 
notion,  to  be  sure!  although  fit  enough 
to  enter  the  brain  of  such  a  young  scape 
grace.  The  Padre  shook  his  head  and 
smiled  affectionately  when  he  thought  of 
Gaston  Villere.  The  youth's  handsome, 
reckless  countenance  would  shine  out,  smil 
ing,  in  his  memory,  and  he  repeated  Auber's 
54 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

old  remark,  "  Is  it  the  good  Lord,  or  is  it 
merely  the  devil,  that  always  makes  me 
have  a  weakness  for  rascals?" 

Sail  away  on  the  barkentine!  Imagine 
taking  leave  of  the  people  here — of  Felipe! 
In  what  words  should  he  tell  the  boy  to  go 
on  industriously  with  his  music?  No,  this 
was  not  imaginable!  The  mere  parting 
alone  would  make  it  for  ever  impossible  to 
think  of  such  a  thing*  "  And  then,"  he 
said  to  himself  each  new  morning,  when  he 
looked  out  at  the  ocean,  "  I  have  given  to 
them  my  life*  One  does  not  take  back  a 
gift/' 

Pictures  of  his  departure  began  to  shine 
and  melt  in  his  drifting  fancy*  He  saw 
himself  explaining  to  Felipe  that  now  his 
presence  was  wanted  elsewhere;  that  there 
would  come  a  successor  to  take  care  of 
Santa  Ysabel — a  younger  man,  more  useful, 
and  able  to  visit  sick  people  at  a  distance* 
55 


PADRE   IGNACIQ 

"  For  I  am  old  now.  I  should  not  be  long 
here  in  any  case/'  He  stopped  and  pressed 
his  hands  together;  he  had  caught  his 
Temptation  in  the  very  act.  Now  he  sat 
staring  at  his  Temptation's  face,  close  to  him, 
while  there  in  the  triangle  two  ships  went 
sailing  by* 

One  morning  Felipe  told  him  that  the 
barkentine  was  here  on  its  return  voyage 
south.  "  Indeed?''  said  the  Padre,  coldly. 
"  The  things  are  ready  to  go,  I  think."  For 
the  vessel  called  for  mail  and  certain  boxes 
that  the  mission  sent  away.  Felipe  left  the 
room  in  wonder  at  the  Padre's  manner. 
But  the  priest  was  laughing  secretly  to  see 
how  little  it  was  to  him  where  the  barken 
tine  was,  or  whether  it  should  be  coming 
or  going.  But  in  the  afternoon,  at  his 
piano,  he  found  himself  saying,  "  Other  ships 
call  here,  at  any  rate."  And  then  for  the 

first  time  he  prayed  to  be  delivered  from 
56 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

his  thoughts.  Yet  presently  he  left  his  seat 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  for  a  sight 
of  the  barkentine;  but  it  was  gone. 

The  season  of  the  wine-making  passed, 
and  the  preserving  of  all  the  fruits  that  the 
mission  fields  grew.  Lotions  and  medicines 
were  distilled  from  garden  herbs.  Perfume 
was  manufactured  from  the  petals  of  flowers 
and  certain  spices,  and  presents  of  it  de 
spatched  to  San  Fernando  and  Ventura,  and 
to  friends  at  other  places;  for  the  Padre 
had  a  special  receipt.  As  the  time  ran  on, 
two  or  three  visitors  passed  a  night  with 
him;  and  presently  there  was  a  word  at 
various  missions  that  Padre  Ignacio  had 
begun  to  show  his  years.  At  Santa  Ysabel 
del  Mar  they  whispered,  "  The  Padre  is  not 
well/'  Yet  he  rode  a  great  deal  over  the 
hills  by  himself,  and  down  the  canon  very 
often,  stopping  where  he  had  sat  with  Gas- 
ton,  to  sit  alone  and  look  up  and  down,  now 
57 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

at  the  hills  above,  and  now  at  the  ocean 
below*  Among  his  parishioners  he  had  cer 
tain  troubles  to  soothe,  certain  wounds  to 
heal;  a  home  from  which  he  was  able  to 
drive  jealousy;  a  girl  whom  he  bade  her 
lover  set  right*  But  all  said*  "  The  Padre 
is  unwell*"  And  Felipe  told  them  that 
the  music  seemed  nothing  to  him  any  more; 
he  never  asked  for  his  Dixii  Dominus 
nowadays.  Then  for  a  short  time  he  was 
really  in  bed,  feverish  with  the  two  voices 
that  spoke  to  him  without  ceasing.  4  You 
have  given  your  life,"  said  one  voice*  "  And, 
therefore,"  said  the  other,  "  have  earned 
the  right  to  go  home  and  die*"  '  You  are 
winning  better  rewards  in  the  service  of 
God,"  said  the  first  voice*  "  God  can  be 
better  served  in  other  places/'  answered  the 
second*  As  he  lay  listening  he  saw  Seville 
again,  and  the  trees  of  Aranhal,  where  he  had 
been  born*  The  wind  was  blowing  through 
58 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

them,  and  in  their  branches  he  could  hear 
the  nightingales*  " Empty!  Empty!"  he 
said,  aloud*  And  he  lay  for  two  days  and 
nights  hearing  the  wind  and  the  nightingales 
in  the  far  trees  of  Aranhal*  But  Felipe, 
watching,  only  heard  the  Padre  crying 
through  the  hours,  "  Empty!  Empty!" 

Then  the  wind  in  the  trees  died  down, 
and  the  Padre  could  get  out  of  bed,  and 
soon  be  in  the  garden*  But  the  voices  within 
him  still  talked  all  the  while  as  he  sat  watch 
ing  the  sails  when  they  passed  between  the 
headlands*  Their  words,  falling  for  ever 
the  same  way,  beat  his  spirit  sore,  like  blows 
upon  flesh  already  bruised*  If  he  could 
only  change  what  they  said,  he  would  rest* 

44  Has  the  Padre  any  mail  for  Santa  Bar 
bara?"  asked  Felipe*  44  The  ship  bound 
southward  should  be  here  to-morrow*" 

"  I  will  attend  to  it,"  said  the  priest,  not 

moving*    And  Felipe  stole  away* 
59 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

At  Felipe's  words  the  voices  had  stopped, 
as  a  clock  finishes  striking*  Silence,  strained 
like  expectation,  filled  the  Padre's  soul. 
But  in  place  of  the  voices  came  old  sights  of 
home  again,  the  waving  trees  at  Aranhal; 
then  it  would  be  Rachel  for  a  moment, 
declaiming  tragedy  while  a  houseful  of 
faces  that  he  knew  by  name  watched  her; 
and  through  all  the  panorama  rang  the 
pleasant  laugh  of  Gaston*  For  a  while  in 
the  evening  the  Padre  sat  at  his  Erard 
playing  Trovatore.  Later,  in  his  sleepless 
bed  he  lay,  saying  now  and  then:  "  To 
die  at  home!  Surely  I  may  be  granted  at 
least  this/'  And  he  listened  for  the  inner 
voices*  But  they  were  not  speaking  any 
more,  and  the  black  hole  of  silence  grew 
more  dreadful  to  him  than  their  arguments* 
Then  the  dawn  came  in  at  his  window,  and 
he  lay  watching  its  gray  grow  warm  into 
color,  until  suddenly  he  sprang  from  his 
60 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

bed  and  looked  at  the  sea*  Blue  it  lay,  sap- 
phire-hued  and  dancing  with  points  of  gold, 
lovely  and  luring  as  a  charm;  and  over  its 
triangle  the  south-bound  ship  was  approach 
ing*  People  were  on  board  who  in  a  few 
weeks  would  be  sailing  the  Atlantic*  while  he 
would  stand  here  looking  out  of  this  same 
window*  "  Merciful  God!"  he  cried*  sinking 
on  his  knees*  "  Heavenly  Father*  Thou 
seest  this  evil  in  my  heart!  Thou  knowest 
that  my  weak  hand  cannot  pluck  it  out !  My 
strength  is  breaking,  and  still  Thou  makest 
my  burden  heavier  than  I  can  bear."  He 
stopped,  breathless  and  trembling*  The 
same  visions  were  flitting  across  his  closed 
eyes;  the  same  silence  gaped  like  a  dry 
crater  in  his  soul*  "  There  is  no  help  in 
earth  or  heaven,"  he  said,  very  quietly;  and 
he  dressed  himself* 


VI 


T  was  still  so  early  that  few  of  the 
Indians  were  stirring,  and  one  of 
these  saddled  the  Padre's  mule* 
Felipe  was  not  yet  awake,  and  for 
a  moment  it  came  in  the  priest's 
mind  to  open  the  boy's  door  softly,  look  at 
him  once  more,  and  come  away*  But  this 
he  did  not,  nor  even  take  a  farewell  glance 
at  the  church  and  organ*  He  bade  nothing 
farewell,  but,  turning  his  back  upon  his 
room  and  his  garden,  rode  down  the  canon* 
The  vessel  lay  at  anchor,  and  some  one 
had  landed  from  her  and  was  talking  with 
other  men  on  the  shore*  Seeing  the  priest 
slowly  coming,  this  stranger  approached  to 

meet  him* 

62 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

*  You  are  connected  with  the  mission 
here?"  he  inquired. 


44  Perhaps  it  is  with  you  that  Gaston 
Villere  stopped?" 

44  The  young  man  from  New  Orleans? 
Yes*  I  am  Padre  Ignacio*" 

(<  Then  you'll  save  me  a  journey*  I 
promised  him  to  deliver  these  into  your  own 
hands*" 

The  stranger  gave  them  to  him* 

44  A  bag  of  gold-dust,"  he  explained.  "  and 
a  letter,  I  wrote  it  at  his  dictation  while 
he  was  dying*  He  lived  hardly  an  hour 
afterward*" 

The  stranger  bowed  his  head  at  the 
stricken  cry  which  his  news  elicited  from  the 
priest,  who,  after  a  few  moments'  vain  effort 
to  speak,  opened  the  letter  and  read: 

My  dear  Friend,  —  It  is  through  no  man's  fault 
bat  mine  that  I  have  come  to  this,     I  have  had  plenty 
63 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

of  lack,  and  lately  have  been  counting  the  days  until 
I  should  return  home*  But  last  night  heavy  news 
from  New  Orleans  reached  me.  and  I  tore  the  pressed 
flower  to  pieces*  Under  the  first  smart  and  humilia 
tion  of  broken  faith  I  was  tendered  desperate,  and 
picked  a  needless  quarrel.  Thank  God,  it  is  I  who 
have  the  punishment.  My  dear  friend,  as  I  lie  here, 
leaving  a  world  that  no  man  ever  loved  more,  I  have 
come  to  understand  you.  For  you  and  your  mission 
have  been  much  in  my  thoughts.  It  is  strange  how 
good  can  be  done,  not  at  the  time  when  it  is  intend 
ed,  but  afterward;  and  you  have  done  this  good  to 
me.  I  say  over  your  words,  "  Contentment  with  Re 
nunciation/'  and  believe  that  at  this  last  hour  I  have 
gained  something  like  what  you  would  wish  me  to 
feel.  For  I  do  not  think  that  I  desire  it  otherwise 
now.  My  life  would  never  have  been  of  service,  I 
am  afraid.  You  are  the  last  person  in  this  world  who 
has  spoken  serious  words  to  me,  and  I  want  you  to 
know  that  now  at  length  I  value  the  peace  of  Santa 
Ysabel  as  I  could  never  have  done  but  for  seeing 
your  wisdom  and  goodness.  You  spoke  of  a  new 
organ  for  your  church.  Take  the  gold-dust  that  will 
reach  you  with  this,  and  do  what  you  will  with  it. 
Let  me  at  least  in  dying  have  helped  some  one.  And 
since  there  is  no  aristocracy  in  souls — you  said  that 
to  me;  do  you  remember? — perhaps  you  will  say  a 
mass  for  this  departing  soul  of  mine.  I  only  wish, 
since  my  body  must  go  under  ground  in  a  strange 
64 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

country,  that  it  might  have  been  at  Santa  Ysabel  del 
Mart  where  yoor  feet  would  often  pass, 

*  At  Santa  Ysabel  del  Mart  where  your 
feet  would  often  pass/'1  The  priest  re 
peated  this  final  sentence  aloud,  without 
being  aware  of  it* 

"  Those  are  the  last  words  he  ever  spoke," 
said  the  stranger,  "  except  bidding  me 
good-by." 

"  You  knew  him  well,  then?" 

"  No;  not  until  after  he  was  hurt*  Fm 
the  man  he  quarreled  with." 

The  priest  looked  at  the  ship  that  would 
sail  onward  this  afternoon. 

Then  a  smile  of  great  beauty  passed  over 
his  face,  and  he  addressed  the  stranger. 
44 1  thank  you.  You  will  never  know  what 
you  have  done  for  me." 

44  It  is  nothing,"  answered  the  stranger, 
awkwardly.    "  He  told  me  you  set  great 
store  on  a  new  organ/' 
65 


PADRE    IGNACIO 

Padre  Ignacio  turned  away  from  the  ship 
and  rode  back  through  the  gorge*  When 
he  had  reached  the  shady  place  where  once 
he  had  sat  with  Gaston  Villere,  he  dis 
mounted  and  again  sat  there,  alone  by  the 
stream,  for  many  hours*  Long  rides  and 
outings  had  been  lately  so  much  his  cus 
tom  that  no  one  thought  twice  of  his  ab 
sence;  and  when  he  returned  to  the  mission 
in  the  afternoon*  the  Indian  took  his  mule, 
and  he  went  to  his  seat  in  the  garden*  But 
it  was  with  another  look  that  he  watched 
the  sea;  and  presently  the  sail  moved 
across  the  blue  triangle,  and  soon  it  had 
rounded  the  headland* 
With  it  departed  Temptation  for  ever* 
Gaston's  first  coming  was  in  the  Padre's 
mind;  and,  as  the  vespers  bell  began  to 
ring  in  the  cloistered  silence,  a  fragment  of 
Auber's  plaintive  tune  passed  like  a  sigh 

across  his  memory: 

66 


PADRE   IGNACIO 


For  the  repose  of  Gaston's  young,  world- 
loving  spirit,  they  sang  all  that  he  had 
taught  them  of  //  Trwaiore. 

After  this  day,  Felipe  and  all  those  who 
knew  and  loved  the  Padre  best,  saw  seren 
ity  had  returned  to  his  features;  but  for 
some  reason  they  began  to  watch  those 
features  with  more  care* 

"Still,"  they  said,  "he  is  not  old/'  And 
as  the  months  went  by  they  would  repeat: 
44  We  shall  have  him  yet  for  many  years/' 

Thus  the  season  rolled  round,  bringing  the 
time  for  the  expected  messages  from  the 
world.  Padre  Ignacio  was  wont  to  sit  in 
his  garden,  waiting  for  the  ship,  as  of 
old. 

"As  of  old,"  they  said,  cheerfully,  who 
saw  him*  But  Renunciation  with  Content- 
67 


PADRE   IGNACIO 

ment  they  could  not  see;  it  was  deep  down 
in  his  silent  and  thankful  heart* 

One  day  Felipe  went  to  call  him  from  his 
garden  seat,  wondering  why  the  ringing  of 
the  bell  had  not  brought  him  to  vespers* 
Breviary  in  lap,  and  hands  folded  upon  it, 
the  Padre  sat  among  his  flowers,  looking  at 
the  sea*  Out  there  amid  the  sapphire-blue, 
tranquil  and  white,  gleamed  the  sails  of  the 
barkentine*  It  had  brought  him  a  new 
message,  not  from  this  world;  and  Padre 
Ignacio  was  slowly  borne  in  from  the  garden, 
while  the  mission-bell  tolled  for  the  passing 
of  a  human  soul. 


THE   END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


API?    3  1967  1  ft 


MAY     k  b/  -12  M 


LD  21A-60m-7,'66 
(G4427slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


